It’s Rose’s turn now. She’s got a cocky grin as she takes the coat of arms, and there’s that striking posture again. She holds herself like someone who’s stood before larger crowds than I’ve ever seen since she learned to walk—like someone who believes, down to her core, in her right to be front and center.

I would kill to be like that.

“I vow,” I whisper, unable to take my eyes from Rose.

“To represent and uphold the values of the Bram Girls in everything I do,” Rose says. Now Eleanor comes up behind her. Instead of taking the coat of arms away, Eleanor grabs on to one half of it to share it with Rose.

“Hence,” Eleanor says, holding out a hand.

“If I meet a Benedictian,” the crowd around me almost growls.

“I will be sure to treat them with the respect they deserve,” Eleanor yells, pumping her fist.

“I will slaughter them in every sporting endeavor I so choose to undertake,” Rose adds, stamping her foot.

“I will outperform them, outmuscle them—”

“And outsmart them in every instance.” Rose again.

Now the two of them shout together, raising the coat of arms between them. “And I will show them their place.”

“AND MINE,” the crowd around me roars before bursting into whooping and cheering. Feeling lost, I join in by making vague noises.

On the platform the prefects break up, most heading toward the exit. Rose and Eleanor pull away from the group and find Molly and me in the crowd, while Florence and Harriet go on ahead.

The crowd swarms around us as we reach the grounds, and we’re bumped back and forth like bowling pins as everybody tries to race to the bleachers to get the best seats. I have to crane my neck to take in whole spectator stands. I guess they need to accommodate four schools, but even still. It’s easy to spot the Bramppath and Ashford students; every last one of them is wearing the damn school sweater, a sea of green and gold drowning the right side of the stands. On the opposite side of the field are the Benedict students, along with their sister school, all wearing maroon and purple stripes.

As we climb the bleachers, Molly rushes a few steps ahead so she can film us live. She gives me a perky wave, and I send one back self-consciously. “First match of the year,” I can hear her saying into the phone. “Bram Girls have it in the bag, I can feel it.”

“She says that every game,” Rose mutters to Eleanor.

“Yeah, but she’s usually right, to be fair,” Eleanor says, turning back to look down at Rose over her shoulder.